Abecedarium
by LJ9
Summary: An inscription consisting of the letters of an alphabet, almost always listed in order. Merida and Hiccup in 26 letters, 100 words each.


**Disclaimer: **The characters belong to Dreamworks, Cressida Cowell, and Disney Pixar, not me.

These aren't in chronological order, but I think y'all can follow along fine. Also, some of the words are suggestions rather than strict prompts, so a little leeway there would do us all well.

Thanks, Mel!

* * *

**Apple**

These are her favorite, and he wonders why. The one in his hand isn't much to look at, squat, misshapen, with a hard brown spot crusted on its deep red skin, but it smells like the end of summer, warm sunlight and fresh honeyed air and the promise of a coming respite from the heat. When he bites into it the flesh is crisp but not too hard; juice fills his mouth and he slurps to keep it from spilling down his chin. It's cooler and sweeter than when he's savored its taste before, licked from her lips, her tongue.

* * *

**Bed**

She sleeps curled up, hair unruly, skin pink against the linen, breaths puffing evenly out of pudgy cheeks. He lies next to her and stares, adoring, transfixed.

"She has a crib, you know."

"I know," he murmurs, eyes never leaving his daughter's face, angelic now but decidedly less so when awake. "I just didn't have the heart to move her." And didn't want to risk waking her, either.

Behind him Merida sinks to her knees on the floor and drapes herself across his waist. "She's beautiful."

"Of course she is." He runs a hand through Merida's curls. "You're her mom."

* * *

**Corbie**

She shivers when the black bird caws from a branch. It's a reproach, a reminder (as if she needs one) of the witch's workshop and the hurt she caused, the foolish, selfish way she acted toward the ones who loved her most. They don't hold those days against her, but she won't forget.

A pair of them swoop above, shadows in the sky, and he smiles. They're a sign that someone is watching over him here, Huginn and Muninn on their errands for Odin. It feels like his own father is there as well, on the wing with the birds.

* * *

**Duty**

With her parents away it's up to her. She wishes desperately for them, especially for her mother, who would know what to say to make the punishment sound like a blessing. Even Hiccup can't help her now; they'd fought about it the night before, about mercy and the law. She stands solemnly to announce her judgment and the condemned man pales. Then, no matter how the bile rises in her throat, she must watch the execution carried out—must watch him die. That night she shakes in Hiccup's arms, afraid she'll never feel warm again, afraid she doesn't deserve to.

* * *

**Exhaustion**

She sweats and bleeds and screams curses, and it's still not over. She's never felt more tired than she does now, and it's _still not over_. Every muscle quivers with effort, every bone feels brittle, every bit of her begs to be able to give up, but she can't. Her mum pushes sodden hair back from her forehead and Merida whimpers, unable to respond otherwise. "Almost there," Elinor promises, one hand in hers, and she finds strength somewhere and pushes again, a groan ripping her in half. Then there's a cry not her own, and a baby at her breast.

* * *

**Fetters**

She adores her husband with every fiber of her being. She would fight to the death, any enemy's or hers, for him. He brings her joy, challenges and inspires her; he's a source of pride and pleasure, and she wouldn't want to live without him.

But sometimes she wants to bash his head in.

And he's the man she _chose_ to spend her life with, loved—even just _liked_—enough to bind herself to. She can't imagine what she'd do to someone she merely tolerated. The kingdom and its succession are much safer with Hiccup, maddening as he can be.

* * *

**Geography**

He's freckled all over, not just on his face, though the ones that cover his body are fewer and paler. She's made it her mission to map every one of them, learn each one's proper place; she doesn't complain that her task grows during the summertime, when working outside without his shirt brings more of them to light. She finds constellations in them, traces patterns with her fingertips, leans over him in their bed and kisses each one until she knows them all, could find them with her eyes closed and does. When she's charted them she starts over again.

* * *

**Haunted**

The house gets too warm sometimes, too close, especially in the winter when Merida keeps the fires built up. She likes to be cozy, piling blankets on the bed, and sometimes he wakes with a start, gasping. It's like being there again, falling into the furnace of a dragon's death. He can't remember it all, only flashes of fear and tearing, searing heat, a whole world reduced to flame behind closed eyelids. The memory chokes him, presses down on him, and he has to shake off the limbs wrapped around his to escape into cooler air so he can breathe.

* * *

**Impression**

The messenger sees more than he should, she thinks. He's studying the hall as he waits for the king's answer, eyes sharp and fast, noticing details. She straightens up unconsciously.

The princess seems impetuous, quick to act, more like her father than her mother. She's curious about him, that's easy enough to tell, but not because of his diplomatic mission. He wonders what she's decided about him, if it's too late to change her mind, and risks a smile.

He has a nice face, kind, genuine, and not what she expected of a Viking. He mightn't be all that bad.

* * *

**Juggernaut**

Together they're unstoppable. She's never seen a faster creature or a better-matched pair; even on Angus she's never imagined achieving this kind of speed or agility. Dragons are dangerous, everyone knows, but for the first time she's scared of a boy: he has a power beyond even that of her father, who's earthbound for all his strength. Or maybe she's scared for the boy, as the dragon dives sharply and her heart pounds in response. They say the friendship between the pair of them broke barriers; within herself she can feel barriers crumbling now and feels powerless to stop it.

* * *

**Kilt**

Over time he's gotten used to dressing in the Highland fashion. Though he still prefers his tunics and breeches, on some occasions he has to look like a Highland prince, rather than a Viking. He doesn't mind; this is his home too, and wearing different clothes doesn't hurt. It also doesn't hurt that Merida looks at him with barely concealed desire whenever he wears it, eyes half-lidded, the sight of his knees apparently too much for her to handle. As soon as they're home she uses eager, nimble hands to unwrap him layer after layer, her favorite present to herself.

* * *

**Light**

Without a word Hiccup bundles her into her cloak, wrapping her warm for a night flight, and leads her to where Toothless waits. It's quiet as he flies north of Berk, the only sound the beat of wings and the rush of the dark sea, to where a colored curtain looms shimmering blue-green in the air above them. The undulating ribbons of starfire sparkle faintly, pulse across the sky; the beauty strikes her like a blow, takes her breath away until all she can do is hang on to him. The tears in her eyes aren't only from the cold.

* * *

**Mourning**

He doesn't want to cry. He's already cried too much in his life: when his mother had died, when he'd realized his leg was gone forever, when the pain overwhelmed him. True to his name, Stoick wouldn't cry, and so Hiccup resolves not to now. All through the burial and the feast and the increasingly-drunken speeches he manages, gritting his teeth and taking measured breaths to hold back the tears. But that night, in the empty house, he lets his wife hold him in his childhood bed and weeps for his dad, who's left him behind for the last time.

* * *

**Nudge**

Stoick's seen the way Hiccup looks at the Highland girl, with admiration and longing and confusion. He can't come right out and tell the boy to make a move, but he's not above dropping hints.

"She's pretty," he remarks.

"A good fighter—the equal of any Viking her age."

"Feisty," he laughs as she knocks Tuffnut's legs from under him.

And then, to be perfectly clear, "She'd make a fine wife."

"Then why don't you marry her?" Hiccup snaps tightly, face crimson.

"Someone will soon enough," he says placidly as Snotlout hands her a grubby bouquet.

Sure enough, someone does.

* * *

**Onyx**

The first sight of his dark skin shining in the moonlight brings the memory of Mor'du's heaving, roaring bulk rushing over her and she shrinks back, more afraid than she's been in years. He tilts his head, expression curious and concerned; if even common animals know the smell of fear, this one looks like it must know her thoughts and understand the reasons her pulse is racing. Their roles seem reversed now: she feels like the wild beast and he the rational being as he sits motionless, watching her calm her breathing, waiting for the chance to gain her trust.

* * *

**Possibility**

"He doesn't look like much," Fergus notes.

He's still a boy growing into himself. He'll be learning and exploring, trying to find his place in the world, or to make a place if there isn't one for him. If he were bigger, stronger, louder, or handsomer, she would worry less, but he has quick eyes and a crooked smile that hint at considerable depth. She knows that you can be clever without looking it, skilled without showing off, and wonders what his unassuming demeanor conceals.

Elinor agrees that just now he doesn't look like much. That's what makes him dangerous.

* * *

**Quick**

She smiles mischievously. "I have something for you. A present, if you like."

"Yeah? Where is it?"

"It's here, but it's...hidden. Sort of."

"Sort of hidden." He looks around the room; nothing appears new or out of place, but she is fiendishly clever when she wants to be. "Are you going to make me tear this place apart looking for it?"

"You wouldn't find it even if you did. You have to wait for it."

Suddenly he's impatient. "How long?"

"About seven months," she says, bright eyes watching his face, and giggles when he catches on, his mouth dropping open.

* * *

**Roar**

He can't hear her over Toothless' frantic bellowing, and he wants desperately to hear her. It will make the pain go away, he thinks, or at least make it less. "Shh, bud. It's really not that bad," he tries to say, aware of Merida leaning over him, terror in her eyes, and aware that it's probably a lie. His head feels sticky and light; her hands are red as she touches his face, begs him to stay with them. It's hard to hear over the rushing in his ears but he croaks "I love you" anyway before it's finally quiet.

* * *

**Succession**

It isn't usual for kings to retire, but this one chooses to. Though his hair has gone white, he's still lively and loud as ever.

"Are you sure, Dad?"

"Aye, I am. My arse is tired of this throne." Elinor slaps his hand as Merida titters. "I want to play with my grandbabies! Teach them how to ride and hunt. Can you blame me?" he asks, picking one of them up and bouncing the child on his knee.

"You're ready, the both of you." Elinor smiles at her daughter and son-in-law.

"Of course y'are. You'll be a grand queen, lass."

* * *

**Troll**

"Say thank you," he directs, hoisting his youngest son into the air, and they chorus "Thank you, Uncle Gobber."

"Now remember what I told ye about fooling them," he says, and they nod seriously. Hiccup doesn't like the idea of Gobber teaching his children to fool anyone and narrows his eyes suspiciously at the older man, but he stares back, revealing nothing.

There's some whispering at the beginning of naptime, though when he checks later everyone is asleep. And to trick any potential hosiery thieves, all of them have one foot bare and a left sock covering a small hand.

* * *

**Undone**

She doesn't require a lady's maid, as Hiccup is dexterous enough to attend to any need she has. Years of smithing and inventing have accustomed him to delicate work; he can plait her hair, tighten her corset, do up the laces at the back of her dress quickly. She prefers it when he takes his time when evening comes: loosing her from the confining layers of fabric, pulling the pins from her hair; and then whispering into her ear, caressing bare skin with callused hands, taking her apart with lips and fingers until she shakes and cries out his name.

* * *

**Venom**

He's the one who knows how to deal with these situations, and he's slipping in and out of consciousness. The smallest creatures are often the deadliest; it's no different with the dragon that bit him.

"Save him," she pleads with the witch, voice ragged. "I don't care what it takes. I'll give you anything." The woman's eyes drop to her stomach and her eyes widen briefly, but she nods. "Anything. Just save my husband."

They think her tears are all of joy and relief, and most of them are. She never tells them about the child that could have been.

* * *

**Wood**

At the carpenter's request they search the forest for limbs and branches suitable for making arrows. Away from the eyes of the court, removed from their expectations, she moves differently—looser, lighter, quieter, freer. She's like some kind of forest spirit, he thinks, and gets so distracted watching her that he doesn't watch where he's going and trips, landing splayed on his stomach at her feet. "Are you alright?" she asks kindly, a laugh trapped behind her tongue. The warmth and strength of her hand as she hauls him upright prove she's no fairy, but he's still under her spell.

* * *

**Xenophilia**

His taste for the unknown borders on obsession sometimes; when he discovers something new he can't help but explore it, catalogue and analyze it. He starts with things he can observe from a distance, like the shades of her hair and its various curls, the sound of her accent, the ways she smiles. But soon observation alone isn't enough and he has to dive deeper into his study: to the texture of her skin as it shivers at his touch, the scent of her sweat mixed with morning dew, the clefts and swells of her body pressing, arching against his.

* * *

**Yawn**

A forked pink tongue uncurls from the gummy mouth, and she feels his side, warm from the sunlight, expand as he inhales. The action is contagious; she doesn't bother to cover her wide-open mouth, only closes her eyes and settles more comfortably against him.

"I knew Toothless was lazy, but I'm surprised at you, Merida. I thought you'd want to go swimming or flying or something."

"We flew here," she points out. "We deserve a rest, right, Toothless?" He sighs his agreement. Eyes still closed she gestures and Hiccup sits down close beside her, content as long as they are.

* * *

**Zephyr**

A wind from the west blows over the three of them as they stand at the edge of the world. The sea shimmers and the sky is cloudless blue, a blank slate to write the future on. Somewhere, beyond the horizon, they'll surely find new lands, landscapes they can't begin to imagine. There may be more dragons out there; there may be other creatures they've none of them seen before. There may be danger and death, but they've all stared those down before, and alone at that; together they can beat anything.

It's all waiting, and they're ready to fly.

* * *

**Notes:**

Corbie - Scots dialect word for crow or raven

Geography - Don't come at me with "Older Hiccup doesn't have freckles in the teaser trailer" because I'm not hearing that.

Quick - an archaic word for pregnant

Xenophilia - "an affection for unknown/foreign objects or peoples." X was hard, okay.


End file.
